Bittersweet
by BruceChickinson
Summary: The irony was being on an island literally made of candy and still be feeling so fucking bitter.


Every sugar crystal was dissolved already, but he kept stirring the spoon. The man in front of him watched him. Sanji was looking at the cup intensely for several minutes now, but his vision did not seem to register reality or the meaning of it. The cigarette hanging in his mouth long gone. His dead eyes stared into the whirlpool in the cup as his hand continued the scoop's movement automatically and empty. No matter how much sugar he put in the coffee, the bitter taste would not leave his mouth. In fact, the irony was being on an island literally made of candy and still be feeling so fucking bitter.

He could feel the other man's eyes pierce him, even though he wasn't even looking at him, because he knew his gaze was damn strong. Zoro was worried about him. He felt his heart ache. He wished he could stop falling apart. He spent the day thinking nonsense and usually at night the emotional load came even stronger and he would think more and more and more bullshit.

"Cook. Enough. " The deep voice said in a concerned tone, waking him from the trance.

"Ah," Sanji agreed weakly, stopping the movement of his arm and still looking down, staring at the still swirling whirlpool.

"Why do you keep drinking this if you're already having trouble sleeping?" One of Zoro's hands came to rest on his own holding the cup. The touch was gentle, comforting without being too heavy.

"Because I know I won't sleep anyhow." Sanji replied tiredly. He'd been through it countless times, and he knew exactly how this went.

"Lack of sleep causes brain damage, you know? And you're not that bright already, imagine with a damaged brain? "Zoro smiled and it was actually a sweet smile, almost as if he was insulting him just to lighten the mood. The weird thing was that in their idiotic dynamics it kinda worked.

"If you stayed longer maybe ... Maybe I could." Sanji replied, his voice tingled with hope. He was being naive, he was well aware of it, but every damn time, whenever he saw the man's stupid smile, he could not resist the temptation to try again.

"I'm leaving, Cook." Zoro spoke firmly and made a move with the intention to withdraw the hand covering the cook's.

"Please, don't." His voice came out almost like a whisper. He did not remember saying "please" to Zoro in all their time together. His hand quickly moved to stop the swordsman's hand, knocking the cup down on the rug in the process.

"Sanji." Zoro sighed as Sanji just watched the coffee spread through the fabric of the rug, as if in a trance once again.

He did not want to wake up from the illusion. His dreams were gone and he was still in love.

"When you leave... I ... I'm lonely." Sanji said without thinking, his eyes still fixed on the rug. The swordsman's features became hard at hearing the words.

"It was you who left." Zoro spat almost at instantly and Sanji felt the knot in his throat almost stop him from breathing. It hurt like a bitch, even if it wasn't the first time he heard this.

"I ... I'm going to be alone." Sanji said, still desperately trying not to be alone. Trying as hard as when, at the edge of his strength, he clung to Kuma's feet to try to stop him from going after Zoro. It was a tendency of him to cling desperately. And fail.

"You are alone." Zoro said, disappearing instantly.

He seemed to want to throw it in his face. Maybe the real Zoro was not so petty, but in Sanji's head he could not imagine a proper version of him. A version that didn't hate him for leaving. For this reason, his visits always followed the same pattern. The presence of the other man brought concomitantly relief and self-loathing. Those were the two faces of the man in his mind. The one that filled him with joy, the ideal Zoro, the Zoro from his dreams, that came and cherished him with his warm touch and his comforting presence. He smiled sweetly and tried to tease him playfully. He cared about Sanji so much.

And then, there was the other one, the Zoro from his paranoia, from his nightmares, responsible for him never being able to enjoy the Zoro of his dreams, the one that appeared when everything seemed too good to be true and Sanji's brain decided that he didn't deserve good. The one who despised him for leaving, the one whose voice brought bitterness with each syllable enunciated. And the two never dissociated themselves. They were part of the same hallucination, over and over, again and again. And as he tried to cling to the hallucination, to the ideal Zoro, the Zoro from his head plunged him deeper into the depths of his melancholic mind, rubbing inconvenient truths on his face.

Today it was faster than usual. At first he thought that perhaps he could make the visit end painless if he didn't interact with him. Then he fell back into the temptation to want that sweetness. Finally, he ruined everything. Perhaps Sanji's enthusiasm had contributed to the acceleration of Zoro's personality change. He had barely exchanged half a dozen words with ideal Zoro and he was already despairing and everything turned to smoke.

He was mechanically trying to dry the spilled coffee with the sleeves of his white shirt. He wished he could stop breathing. Maybe it was the only way to ease the pain.

He wanted him, the real Zoro, to come for him, even though he was the one who abandoned him.

Finally he stopped soaking his shirt with coffee and sat down with his back to the bed, his arms folded over his knees and his head lowered. What he told Zoro was the unfortunate truth. He would not be able to sleep that night, just like many others before. His bed in this palace was much more comfortable and softer than his bed in the Sunny, and certainly a thousand times more than his hammock or Merry's hard wooden floor. But it was no compare. There was no heat, there was nothing. It was like sleeping on a bed in a mall furniture store, completely odd, uncomfortable and impersonal. His eyes were overflowing with salty drops, initially small and the result of his sleepy eyes, which turned into a waterfall of anguish and anxiety.

He was not there. And he would never be. He was feeling cold inside and out and it would not go away.


End file.
